Does truth come written like a song or a screech like a tire turned wrong?
Both I suppose. But I prefer the sound of waves to storybooks already wrote.
If there is destiny I propose it's in the throat.
An unwavering voice where weakness is not shown. A calamity of tone. Conviction in step and in speech.
Paired with a confidence that's unshaking.
Sweat only caught on still frame-
vocal desire when the heart and the eyes find attunement again.
Through all actions we reap what is and isn't destiny. Through speech we seek I believe what the most inner parts of us need.
To be accepted, to feel free.
To not be ashamed of the desire we hold beneath
-that we're not too small for our dreams,
-that it is not destiny but I that leads.
Do my soul and my dreams not belong to me?
No one else could take their claim-
If you feel unworthy measure again. Why- Because eyes deceive and mirrors reflect inner beliefs.
With bravery comes calamity. A rejection of fear- it's knowing it does not nothing but render me here.
Self-respect is the greatest of all gains. Failure to love is the heaviest of all chains
